


You’ll be safe in my arms if I keep holding you tight.

by AGirlByAnyOtherName



Series: Buried [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Buried Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, One Shot, Protective Aramis, Protective Athos, Protective Musketeers, Protective Porthos, Rescue, Rescue Mission, Sequel, Worried Musketeers, d'Artagnan is missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22861054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlByAnyOtherName/pseuds/AGirlByAnyOtherName
Summary: D’Artagnan was missing and they wouldn’t stop until he was safe. Sequel to Buried.
Series: Buried [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643374
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	You’ll be safe in my arms if I keep holding you tight.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jewls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewls/gifts).



> For Jewls who commented on Buried far, far too long ago giving me the wonderful idea of writing a sequel from the trio’s POV. Since then I constantly thought about writing it and have now finally gotten the words out! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> This can be read by itself but may make more sense if you read Buried first :)

The sun was starting to set on the third day of d’Artagnan’s disappearance.

Three days since they had last seen their brother and Athos, Porthos and Aramis had officially run out of places to look for him.

At first, when he didn’t show up for breakfast on the first day, they had simply assumed that he had accidentally slept in. Then by lunchtime Aramis was cracking jokes about d’Artagnan taking as much alone time with Constance as he could whilst her husband was out – which hadn’t stopped Treville’s anger at the boy deliberately missing the morning training session, but had quelled any suspicions of foul play before they even started.

But then when Constance had arrived shortly after with a basket filled with fresh bread she had spent the morning lovingly baking for the soldiers - claiming that d’Artagnan had left for the garrison hours ago - they had started to worry.

Now they were gathered in Treville’s office to try and figure out what to do next.

“I finished checking the taverns, no-one’s heard anything.” Aramis took off his hat and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Same at the marketplace.” Athos sighed.

“We checked the palace yesterday, didn’t we?” Porthos was standing at the desk, leaning over the map that was open.

“Yeah that was me, there was nothing.”

“I checked back with that innkeeper I was talking to, but he was thinking of someone else.”

“Those washer women from the lower town said they would let me know if they heard anything, but so far nothing.”

“Did anyone check those brothels by the Seine?”

“No, he wouldn’t have gone there and I doubt they know anything.”

“Has anyone checked the alleyways behind the dressmakers?”

“Has anyone checked the morgue?” Treville interrupted, only to be met with an abrupt silence.

“Captain-” Athos mumbled, not quite sure of what response he could give to that. They hadn’t even entertained the idea that d’Artagnan could be dead.

“I know you don’t want to accept the possibility-”

“He’s not dead.” Porthos stated, meeting Treville’s eyes.

“But,” Treville continued firmly, “Three days is a long time to be missing and we’re nearing the fourth.”

“He’s not dead.” Porthos repeated, sounding less sure of himself.

Treville lightly squeezed his shoulder, “Then there’s no harm in checking. If he’s not there, you can continue the search tomorrow.”

This suggestion left the men feeling deflated, not wanting to leave the office all of a sudden. Because if they went to the morgue and they found their brother lying there, cold and pale and still, then that would be final. Staying where they were allowed them to continue clinging to that tiny sliver of hope that they would find him unharmed. 

A timid knock at the door interrupted their thoughts as Treville gave the intruder permission to enter.

The door slowly opened to reveal Leon and Hugo, two of the young cadets who had recently joined the regiment.

Athos smiled encouragingly at the boys. He knew that it was unnerving enough as a newbie to have to come and interrupt the Captain but having three senior Musketeers standing there as well would make it all the more intimidating.

They had only been here a few months but had already shown a lot of promise in their abilities. Their only fault lay in their reserved, almost shy, natures, but Athos had no doubt that with time they would come out of their shells and flourish as their skills improved. 

Standing in the doorway now though they looked downright terrified.

“Captain-” Leon coughed as the word got stuck in his throat. The boys both glanced at each other and Leon took a deep breath before continuing. “Captain, may we come in? We think we might know something about d’Artagnan.”

The trio all looked at each other as Treville nodded to the boys. “Come in.”

Hugo shut the door behind them as they came to stand in front of the group.

Leon’s eyes darted between the four men, unsure of who it was best to direct the information to, before choosing none of them and instead looking in the vague direction of Treville’s desk.

“We know we should have come to you sooner,” Leon started fiddling with the glove he was holding in this hand, “we just didn’t want to lose our place here or be arrested for duelling, but we know that finding d'Artagnan is more important.”

“Duelling? Wait- start from the beginning.” Treville got up from his chair and came around to lean against the front of the desk.

Leon glanced at Hugo again before swallowing loudly. “Four days ago, we were walking back to the garrison when these three Red Guards stopped us. They were being really arrogant and insulting the regiment. Then they convinced me to take part in a duel, so we went to the clearing, they chose their solider and we agreed on the rules-”

“But Sir, they goaded him into it, it’s not his fault.” Hugo impatiently interrupted, trying to defend his friend.

Leon turned his head to reply in a hushed voice, “I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“They made you think you had to prove your worth!”

“That doesn’t matter anymore…”

Treville eyed Leon carefully. He knew far too well of the Red Guards’ less than honourable antics and convincing two new cadets into a fight they probably wouldn’t win sounded all too familiar. 

“Boys, what happened next?” He encouraged them to continue with the story.

“I was up against the youngest of the three, this cocky, reckless idiot who thought he was amazing but had the footwork of a donkey.”

The corner of Treville’s mouth quirked upwards slightly.

“And the duel didn’t even last that long and I was clearly winning and then…I stabbed him. It was such an obvious move you would have been ashamed of me and I thought he would block it but-“

Leon’s wide eyes locked with Treville’s and he could feel the shame pouring off boy.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” He whispered.

Treville nodded slowly and stood up from where he was leaning on the desk and moved closer to the boys. “I believe you and we’ll sort this out later, but for now what has this got to do with d’Artagnan?”

Out of the corner of his eye Hugo could see the other Musketeers watching them closely. “Before we ran off, they swore they would get revenge and then the next day d’Artagnan went missing.”

“We didn’t actually realise at first that it could be connected, but it’s been four days and they haven’t come for us…so what if they came for someone else?”

“We should have known the Red Guards were behind this,” Porthos growled from where he was standing by the wall. 

“Do you know their names?” Athos asked.

The boys answered at the same time; “No idea” “Victor and Luc.”

Leon turned to Hugo with a face of pure confusion, “How the hell do you-?”

Hugo shrugged, “I asked around. If they were coming for you, I wanted to be ready.”

Leon looked taken aback and Aramis smiled gently at the display of brotherhood shown before him.

Athos, who was too focused on the fact that they might be a step closer to finding d’Artagnan, turned to Treville, “Captain, permission to go and have a little chat with some Red Guards?”

“Go.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the three men to find out which tavern had the misfortune of frequently housing the two Red Guards, and unluckily for Luc, Victor was nowhere to be found.

Porthos grinned at his friends as they watched a very drunk Luc try to woo the many girls surrounding him, “Guess one Red Guard is better than none.”

“Luc!” Aramis bellowed in a friendly manner, walking towards the man.

Luc squinted at him for a moment before registering who it was standing in front of him. “Musketeers!” he replied, clumsily standing up and knocking into the table in front of him, “thought you were too good for this place.”

Aramis wrapped his arms around Luc’s shoulder, continuing to smile at the man, “We just wanted to have a little chat, that’s all.”

Luc was far too drunk to realise that he was being led out of the tavern and happily kept in step with Aramis as he gloated about how superior the Red Guards were compared to the Musketeers.

In fact, he gloated all the way to the small barn towards the back the tavern, right up until he realised that someone was tying his hands together around the wooden beam now behind him.

He tried to pull away but severely lacked the coordination to do so. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The three men walked to stand in front of him as Aramis answered, “Like I said, we want to have a little chat.”

Luc tried to kick him but couldn’t quite get his leg far enough.

Porthos tutted. “Now now Luc, we don’t want to have to do this the hard way, just tell us where d’Artagnan is and we’ll let you go. It’s as simple as that.”

It took a moment for Luc’s brain to register what had just been asked of him, but when it finally caught up, he burst into pure uproarious laughter, “You think you’ll find him?”

Athos, stoic as ever, didn’t allow the man’s amusement to get to him, “Where is he?”

“Like I’d tell you,” Luc spat back.

“Fine, looks like it’s going to be the hard way,” Athos nodded, stepping back to reveal Aramis preparing his pistol.

Luc’s face fell as he began to struggle against the binds.

“You know people say I’m quite good with these,” Aramis began their well-practiced routine, “But the musket isn’t the most reliable weapon. From a hundred yards I’ll probably miss as often as I hit. From fifty I rarely miss, but from ten, it’s just a matter of which vital organ do I chose to hit first.”

Luc’s breathing sped up, eyes darting between the men in front of him, “You wouldn’t.”

Porthos stepped closer and surveyed Luc’s torso like an intriguing oil painting, “Heart?”

“Hmm too swift, the liver perhaps? Or maybe a stomach shot! Death is inevitable but he’ll bleed for hours first.”

“Wait, just wait a moment,” Luc pleaded as Aramis readied the pistol.

The Red Guard squeezed his eyes shut, readying himself for the coming pain, but was instead greeted with the sound of a trigger being pulled and a slight fizz of powder being lit.

“Bang!” Porthos whispered in his ear as he let out the breath he was holding, his brain fighting hard to catch up with the fact that he hadn’t been shot.

“Oh silly me, I forgot the ball,” Aramis laughed as he picked the small musket ball out of his pouch and rolled it between his fingers for everyone to see before loading the musket, “This time…”

Luc’s face paled and the alcohol he had recently consumed was very close to making a reappearance.“Alright, alright! We framed you!” He shouted desperately.

Aramis stepped forward and rested the end of his pistol against Luc’s chest, “What was that?”

Luc had sobered up considerably by this point and carefully eyed Aramis’ finger still resting against the trigger.

“Look, everyone knows that you three are the King’s favourites and some of us don’t exactly think it’s fair. We wanted to teach you a lesson, to show you how it feels to be as low down as the rest of us and Isaac’s death gave us an opportunity. So, we told his brothers that it was you three that killed him in the duel and nobody’s seen them since.” 

“His brothers are Red Guards too?” Porthos asked.

Luc nodded.

“But if you told them it was us, why did they go after d’Artagnan?”

“They thought you took their brother, so they vowed to take yours…”

“Where have they taken him?”

Luc was about the answer but stopped himself before revealing anything.

“Aramis, we’ve got enough to go on, just shoot him.” Athos stated dismissively as he went to leave the barn.

“Fine! Their family have a house in Amilly. I’m not saying he’s definitely there, but it’s the only place I can think off.”

Aramis took his pistol away as Porthos stepped forward and gently slapped Luc’s check twice, “see that wasn’t so hard was it.”

“So now will you untie me?” Luc asked hopefully.

“Untie yourself.” Aramis called over his shoulder as the three of them exited the barn.

* * *

It was past midnight by the time they returned to the garrison. Treville was still up awaiting their return and was unsurprised to hear that they had managed to get all the information they needed to find d’Artagnan.

He could have tried to persuade them to rest for a while before they left but with d’Artagnan having been with these avenging Red Guards for three days already there was no way they would wait for a more respectable hour.

So off they went with no sleep, little supplies but complete determination to bring their brother home.

Thankfully, it was very quiet on the roads and despite having to stop a few times to allow the horses to rest, they reached Amilly in quite good time

The small town in Amilly was home to about 100 people, many of whom were starting to rise from their beds to begin tending to their farms. The sleepy looks on the faces of everyone they passed reminded Aramis of just how tired he felt. But they were so close, there was no way they could slow down now.

They asked all those they could find regarding the location of the Red Guard’s family home but only gained vague directions or blank looks in return. But someone must have been smiling on them as all it took was a field of sheep blocking their path for them to head towards the north of the village and ran straight into the path of a kind old man who had all the answers they needed.

“Yes of course,” he had been happy to inform them, “their house is just across the stream there. Keep heading north towards the woods and you can’t miss it.”

Athos was about to offer his thanks, but the man interrupted him with an embarrassed look, “But they’re not here right now! Silly me getting your hopes up that you’d find them, they left for Orleans a few days ago. Their daughter gave birth last week, so they’ve travelled there to spend some time with the baby.”

Athos smiled at the man, “You’ve been most helpful Sir, thank you.”

The man nodded his head in response and went on his way.

“Makes it easier to hide a kidnapped Musketeer if your family isn’t around,” Porthos muttered, giving his tired horse an encouraging nudge.

They followed the directions and soon they were standing outside a quaint little cottage. There were pretty rows of flowers leading up to the front door and an empty washing line hanging up. The woods were nearby, but not so close that it encroached on the family’s farmland that had clearly been well tended to.

The men quietly dismounted and like a well-oiled machine, they silently entered the house and checked every room for anything that could lead to d’Artagnan.

“Everywhere else clear?” Athos whispered as they regrouped at the end of the hallway next to the one door they had yet to check behind.

“Not quite.” Porthos frowned as he lifted what he was holding to reveal a pistol and jacket. They both looked undamaged but finding them thrown into a corner had been enough to fill Porthos with rage.

Athos had no words as he gently took the pistol from Porthos. He traced his finger along the sloppy initials that d’Artagnan had carved into the wood himself. He should have been pleased that it proved they were definitely in the right place, but it was hard to look at the positives when they still hadn’t found d’Artagnan.

“They in there?” Porthos growled, fully prepared to charge in if Aramis had not stuck his hand out in a signal for him to hold back.

He waited for Athos to clip d’Artagnan’s pistol onto his belt and prepare himself before swiftly pulling the door open and entering the room, his own pistol raised at the ready. It was a rather small room, no bigger than any other in the house, with stone walls and a cold, dirty floor. There was one window and no furniture. There were however some chains attached to the wall.

“Well, this isn’t weird at all.” Porthos muttered sarcastically as he pointed to the chains with his pistol.

“Safety precaution for anything expensive,” Athos turned from where he was peering out of the window to face his friends. “It’s a storeroom.”

“That would explain the farming tools and excessive amount of food supplies I found dumped in the kitchen. I did think it was a bit strange.” Aramis muttered distractedly as he took a closer look at the chains on the wall, “Do you think they used these on him?”

“Probably.”

Porthos shook his head dishearteningly as he noticed a stain on the ground near where Aramis was crouching down. It could be easily missed, only a shade or two darker than the actual floor itself, but on closer inspection it was definitely blood. “Can we go and kill these bastards now please?”

They left the house and headed back to the horses, none of them voicing the fact that they didn’t actually have any leads on where to go next now that no-one was home.

Then, with his experienced eagle eyes Athos noticed two faint trails of footprints leading into the woods. He pointed them out to the others, who needed no convincing to follow the trail. Every second they waited was putting d’Artagnan in more danger. They had no idea what would make the Red Guards leave a place that had everything they needed to keep someone captive. And they weren't sure they wanted to find out why.

The trail of footprints faded very quickly, but the trail of two Red Guards who have zero skills in hiding their tracks did not. Broken branches and torn up roots led them in the right direction, then the sounds of shovelling led them right to the culprits.

As soon as they saw the two men shovelling dirt into a hole in the ground and no d’Artagnan in sight, it was painfully obvious what was happening. The three of them drew their pistols and fired as they urged their horses to speed up. All three shots missed their targets, but it was enough to make the Red Guards drop their shovels and cower in shock for a moment.

The three Musketeers jumped off their horses as soon as they were close enough and instantly drew their swords. They had no time to grieve for their fallen brother as they were met with the Red Guard’s own blades.

Aramis and Porthos took a Red Guard each which left Athos with no opponent. Trying to enter the fight now would probably hinder his brothers more than help them. Instead he edged towards the freshly dug grave. They were too late. It didn’t matter how long ago d’Artagnan had been killed because, in Athos’ eyes, they were four days too late. They should have protected him from the start and now their brother was dead.

“Leave him!” One of the Red Guards shouted towards Athos over the clanging of the swords. “He deserves to pay for what he did!”

“Deserves?” Athos’ brain quickly put the pieces together. “He’s not dead yet….”

“Martin, you idiot!” The other Red Guard shouted to his brother as he tried to gain the upper hand against Porthos.

Athos wasted no time in dropping to his knees and clawing at the muddy ground. It was rather crumbly having been churned by the shovels already and Athos could feel it getting uncomfortably stuck under his fingernails, but he kept digging and digging and digging, the sounds of the ongoing fight barely registering to his ears.

His arms were tiring from the unrewarding exertion but after far too long, his fingertips caught something. Whether it was skin or clothing, he wasn't sure, yet all that mattered was that it definitely wasn't soil.

Athos continued to throw the dirt into the pile he had been forming behind him until he could clearly see d'Artagnan's torso. From there he worked on freeing his shoulders, then his head, then enough of the rest of his body so that he could successfully pull the boy from his earthy prison and into his arms.

He had only just managed to confirm to his frantically beating heart that d’Artagnan was still alive and breathing when the boy started wriggling out of his hold. He had yet to open his eyes as he kicked out weakly and struggled to get away.

Athos then noticed what was making d'Artagnan so agitated and moved immediately to untie the rope that was binding his arms behind him and his feet together, all the while offering gentle reassurances to try and calm the boy down.

“D’Artagnan, it’s okay, you’re okay, we’ve got you.” He threw the ropes down and gathered d’Artagnan into his arms once more, the boy sitting awkwardly on his lap.

As Athos pulled him tight, he could feel as d’Artagnan stopped resisting and relaxed into the hug. He also noticed how quiet it had suddenly become and glancing up he allowed himself a sigh of relief as he saw Aramis and Porthos walking towards them, away from the two freshly dispatched bodies lying in a heap on the ground.

Athos could feel his whole body shaking with relief as he rested his cheek against d’Artagnan’s head, “It’s okay, you’re safe now, I’m here, you’re safe.”

“Is he alright?” Aramis asked. He was desperate to take his friend from Athos and check for injuries but knew that ambushing him would probably do more harm than good. Instead he gently took the hand closest to him that was feebly gripping onto Athos jacket and observed the raw looking rope burns before sending Porthos to fetch the supplies from the horse.

“We found him, Aramis.” Athos sounded as weary as he looked.

“Yeah, we did." Aramis smiled reassuringly, noticing how tightly Athos was holding d'Artagnan, as if terrified that he would disappear at any moment.

"D'Artagnan, can you look at me?" Aramis asked gently, as not to startle the boy. He rested his hand on the back of d’Artagnan’s head and guided it away from where it was buried in Athos' chest. He used his thumb to brush away the soil still sitting on his eyelids and smiled when d’Artagnan scrunched his eyes a little before tentatively allowing them to flutter open.

"Aramis?" he croaked, eyes darting over to Porthos as he made his way back to them.

"Yeah," Aramis smiled, "It's us. You're okay."

Porthos crouched down and rested Aramis’ bag of supplies on the floor, “We’ve got you lad.”

“I’m safe.” D’Artagnan whispered, still looking at the pair through drooping eyelids as he lowered his head to rest against Athos’ chest again.

Athos was feeling so many emotions in that moment that he could have sobbed at the pure innocence in d'Artagnan's voice. Instead he closed his eyes and gripped the boy tighter, “You’re safe.”


End file.
